


A Fondness For Idiots

by moonlit_verities



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Coming Out, Confessions, Enthusiastic Consent, First Time, Fluff, M/M, No Eurus Holmes, Rating May Change, Set after series 4 but no overt mentions, Soft John Watson, The Final Problem doesn't exist, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 03:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14844500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlit_verities/pseuds/moonlit_verities
Summary: He is not sure why he feels compelled to answer John. Perhaps it’s the conflicted look stitching John’s brows together, or the earnest way in which he seems so invested in Sherlock’s emotional wellbeing, or maybe it’s just that resisting alcohol and its inhibition-lowering effect has never been Sherlock’s strong suit. He takes a deep breath and decides to hurtle himself off the precipice that he feels he is suddenly standing on.





	A Fondness For Idiots

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd so any mistakes are my own. I still consider myself new to this whole fanfiction business so any feedback is greatly appreciated <3

“Right where were we?” John asks, pouring himself another scotch “oh yeah, your turn to answer.”

“What? Why?! There’s nobody left!”

“Yeah but we’ve got to finish the game, and besides everyone else answered!”

“Yes but _everyone else_ has gone. And I hardly think recounting embarrassing tales and sexual conquests is grounds for the term ‘game’.”

“Who said anything about sex?”

“Lestrade did, at least I assume that’s what he was implying when referring to the time he had with the two gymnasts on the back seat of his first car.”

John snorts, “yeah alright Greg might have got a bit risqué, but Molly picked the question and I rather think she was keen on hearing you answer it. The fact you managed to avoid it for the last hour is, I’m sure, a source of disappointment for her.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes but quickly realises John isn’t going to let this one slide and any further evasion is only going to mean an awkward end to the night. Sherlock takes a deep breath and braces for the ensuing conversation, John needn’t think he’s going to make it easy though.

“Alright but what parameters are we using to define _best?_ Quality of the kiss? Intentions behind it? The skill of the other participant? Whether or not there was,” Sherlock twirls his hand searching for the right word, “ _sentiment_ involved?”

John snorts; “mate you’re thinking about this too hard. I don’t need a spreadsheet or anything, just what was the best kiss you’ve ever had? You know; rocked your world, made you see God type of snog.”

“John as I have explained to you before God is a concept invent-“

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just an expression. You’re avoiding the question anyway. I won’t judge you know? Where just 2 drunk mates…having a chat.”

Sherlock sighs.

“Now might be the time to remind you that one of us is significantly drunker than the other.”

“Oi! I’m allowed, it’s my birthday! Besides, I saw you walk Lestrade out earlier, you’re not entirely unaffected either. Here,” John leans forward to top up Sherlock’s glass before sinking back into his chair with a pleased look on his face, “liquid courage.”

He waits for Sherlock to take a mouthful, eyes glazed with a contented softness and Sherlock is reminded briefly of John’s stag night. Something pangs sharply in Sherlock’s chest and he readjusts his posture in attempt to dislodge the unpleasant feeling. It almost works.

“Fine. Right. Ok. Best kiss I’ve ever had.”

He taps his fingers on his lips while he tries to navigate to that particular wing of his mind palace. Well, wing probably isn’t the write description. Filing cabinet perhaps. It’s not like the list of people Sherlock’s kissed is exceedingly large. And when everyone was recalling their own tales of lip locking earlier they all used the term snogging. What exactly was the difference between a kiss and a snog? Because if everyone else’s descriptions were anything to go by then he had even less experience with the latter. He shakes his head to stop the obsessive spiral of thoughts; he is thinking too hard about this again and John is still smiling at him expectant but with a soppy expression clouding his eyes. Happy drunk tonight. Skill or sentiment? He still hasn’t figured out what quantifies the estimation of the best kiss. He is going to have to pick one and go with that. But if it’s skill he’s not sure how that answer will go down with John, given how unfavourably he reacted to witnessing it. Then again, the thought of getting John flustered is a welcome one. Skill it is.

Sherlock thinks of the last person he kissed- Janine.

“In terms of skill Janine was probably the best, all though at the time she did have a tendency to favour the use of her tongue. Janine was a beautiful woman but given that I wasn’t attracted to her in the slightest that did inhibit the ability to enjoy the kisses. Before that was Bill Wiggins, high as a kite and thoroughly impressed with his own deductions. Given how infrequently Wiggins brushes his teeth that was an altogether unpleasant, albeit short lived, experience.” He rambles, noting the grimace on John’s features.

“Before that was…” Sherlock hesitates, takes a sip before answering.

“Irene Adler-”

John frowns, sucks in a sharp breath and he can already see the questions forming in Johns mind after a barked out _I bloody knew it_.

Sherlock shoots him a disapproving look before continuing.

“Yes well, Irene Adler. Just the once. After I saved her from a beheading. I believe it was a kiss of gratitude, possibly a reaction to adrenaline and the threat of her own mortality. She’s gay of course, but she has spent so much of her life manipulating people of all genders with sex and desire that I think it was a natural response. Or perhaps she just saw it as a fitting end to the game. There was, I suppose, an attraction between us, but for me it was never anything more than the attraction of a worthy opponent. She played the game well, she did it in such a way that fascinated me. But I didn’t want her. Not in the way you assumed. She is an attractive woman. But as I’ve mentioned before, women aren’t really my area.”

John looks a little shell-shocked. He swallows thickly before taking another swig and waiting for Sherlock to continue. Sherlock feels something akin to pride at being able to render John speechless on the subject of The Woman.

“And before that was...”

_Olive skin, chestnut brown eyes, deep rumbling laugh. Legs that seemed to go on for days and wavy hair that sat in such a manner that gave an overall impression of an old fashioned movie star. Quick wit, indulgent voice that dripped like honey over the simplest of exclamations._

Sherlock clears his throat and drains his glass before continuing.

“Before that was someone at university. So you see John, I don’t exactly have a wealth of experiences to pick from. But I suppose if you take away the lack of attraction and the fact that it was a ruse to get to Magnussen, technically speaking, Janine was the best. If we’re going with skill.”

John, eyes wide, shuffles back into a more upright position.

“And,” John swallows; hesitating, “what if we’re going with sentiment then?”

Time to deflect again, they are getting into dangerous territory now and Sherlock foolishly has just finished the last of his scotch and thus no longer has something to occupy his hands or stall his responses.

“Sentiment, yes as I’ve expressed to you in the past John, sentiment is a-"

John’s having none of it though. His voice is soft but insistent and he has that look in his eyes that makes Sherlock uncomfortable. It looks like pity and Sherlock hates how wrong footed it makes him feel.

“Sherlock. Look. If it makes you uncomfortable to talk about this we can just drop it….but I’d like to ask you a question, if that’s alright?”

He pauses, waiting for Sherlock’s permission to continue. Sherlock waves him ahead nonchalantly, pretending his stomach hasn’t just dropped to his knees.

“Have you…ever kissed anybody because you wanted to? All those kisses you just talked about…you described them like you were an onlooker rather than an active participant. Have you never just kissed someone because you wanted it? Because you desired them?”

Cheeks flushed; Sherlock’s voice cracks on his reply.

“Yes I want to, I desire to…I mean. I have wanted to. I did. Once. Well, a few times it happened but…” Sherlock trails off, a sick hollow feeling filling his gut. They are definitely on dangerous ground now and Sherlock can’t see any possible way back to safer territory.

“Uni?”

“Yes. University.” Sherlock pauses, contemplating if he is prepared to throw caution to the wind completely. Well; resisting temptation has never been his strong suit, particularly when that temptation was John Watson. He ignores the claxons sounding in his head and continues.

“His name was Victor. I think I fancied myself in love with him at the time although I realise now it was more of an infatuation. I wanted to kiss him. I did kiss him, we kissed a few times. Before I ruined everything. So if sentiment is what you’re after then yes I suppose he was the best. But as I understand it most people are sentimental about their first kiss, at least that’s what my research leads me to believe.”

John’s got that look in his eyes again and Sherlock realises now it isn’t pity. Not really. It’s an odd mix of sadness and wonder. His expression turns contemplative for a second, his eyes shift away and his brow furrows and Sherlock begins to think he has made John uncomfortable. He watches John’s free hand as it clenches and unclenches against John’s thigh. The possibilities of what’s triggered that reaction can usually be narrowed down to only a select few things. Sherlock wonders - anger? Or stress? Evidently he is suppressing something. Sherlock waits for the inevitable outburst but, as usual, John Watson surprises him.

“Tell me about him?”

Shocked by the unexpected sincerity; Sherlock does.

He tells John about the day they first met; Victor’s dog attacking Sherlock’s ankle as he was dashing across campus to reach the chemistry labs before the cleaners ruined another of his experiments. He mentions Victor’s love of classical music and how he always insisted Sherlock played the classics for him. He talks about the solid length of his tanned arms and how Sherlock used to devote hours to imagining what it would be like to have those arms wrapped around him. He tells John about being a little bit tipsy and attempting to kiss Victor but completely missing the mark. He talks about how Victor laughed fondly at him and pulled him closer to show him how to do it properly. He talks about Victor helping him with a break through on a chemical formula. The impossible curve of his silhouette, how his white shirt clung to his skin the day they both got caught in the rain. He tells John about going to visit with Victor’s family and wondering about whether anything would escalate between them physically. How they barely even get to kiss because Victor doesn’t want his conservative parents to find out and jeopardise his possible future as the inheritor of the family company. Lastly he tells John about how Victor blamed his father’s heart attack on the stress of Sherlock’s investigation and uncovering of his father’s past. He talks about the letter Victor writes him; saying he never wants to see Sherlock again. How he goes back to Cambridge alone and utterly humiliated, and relapses to the point of needing rehab. He talks and talks until his voice is hoarse and his throat hurts.

John continues to watch Sherlock, his expression still so soft, and fond and Sherlock has to look away from the brightness of it. He rubs nervously at the back of his neck, he feels awfully exposed and starts to wonder if he can just yell _hah; fooled you_ and they could just chalk this up to another of Sherlock’s manipulative and elaborate jokes. John clears his throat and the wet sound of it draws Sherlock’s gaze back to John’s face and he suddenly notices the shininess of John’s eyes. John sniffs and downs the rest of his glass.

“Right,” John places his glass on the side table and grips his knees, “right.”

Sherlock nervously speaks through the thick feeling in his throat; “John, you’ve already said that. Perhaps it’s best if that is the last glass”.

John’s lips quirk up and he takes a moment to swipe at his eyes before nodding once, quickly, as though he has made up his mind about something. He sighs and relaxes down into his chair again and Sherlock drops his gaze to his own knees.

“Thank you, Sherlock. For sharing that with me,” comes John’s voice; quiet but earnest, and Sherlock’s head whips up in surprise. As ever, John Watson continues to amaze him.

Sherlock shrugs self-consciously as John uncrosses and crosses his legs again. John nods again before taking a breath to continue-

“So; it is _men_ then?”

Sherlock scoffs, “John, as I think I’ve told you before, whilst romantic and sexual relationships are-“

John shakes his head, clearly frustrated at Sherlock’s tried and true tactic for derailing such discussions.

“Yeah, yeah, alright. I’ve heard it all before. Can we just not?”

“Not what?” Comes Sherlock’s indignant reply.

“The whole married to you work spiel. I think we both know now that isn’t true in the slightest, no matter how much you try to convince yourself and everybody else. You can’t sit here and act like you telling me about that posh git who broke your heart didn’t just happen….I’m not going to judge you for it you know? Wasn’t it you that said we’re all human? If you remember, I did once tell you…it’s all fine Sherlock.”

“And if you recall also; I distinctly remember telling you that girlfriends were not really my area. So who is the idiot here?”

“Both of us” John replies quickly and firmly, drawing a startled look from Sherlock.

“What?”

John shakes his head again.

“Nothing. Just; The Woman-“

“Oh Christ John, not that again-“

“No hang on; I was just going-“

“How many times do I have to-“

“Look I’m just saying; yeah I’m an idiot but you have to admit that you two had…chemistry. And she was certainly laying it on thick.”

“Mixed messages I’ll grant you that.” Sherlock grins wickedly. John runs a hand over his shortened hair, a smile gracing his lips again.

“But just so we’re clear-“

Sherlock gives an overly dramatic sigh.

“Yes John; men. Only men. Whilst I can appreciate the appeal of womankind, the appreciation is entirely aesthetic, in the way one might admire a piece of art. There is no doubt that the Venus de Milo is beautiful, but I don’t want it in my living room.”

John snorts at that and Sherlock continues-

“In conclusion; gay. Very much so. Though again, romantic or sexual relationships have not been something I have chosen to waste my time on.”

“Except Victor,” John offers.

“Hmm” he doesn’t bother to correct John, it never had a chance to become sexual with Victor. But given his rather small list of past kisses Sherlock does not feel like further exposing himself by talking about his sexual history. That list would be much smaller. Non-existent in fact. Whilst it was romantic Sherlock has since realised it was never love, though it was his first (and for a long time _only_ ) foray into romantic sentiment, what he felt for Victor did not even compare to the absolutely world altering feeling of loving John Watson.

“Has there ever been…anyone else?” John takes a deep breath before clarifying; “anyone else you’ve ever…loved. Like that I mean? Been in love with?”

Sherlock feels the slight chill of panic down his spine at John’s question, worried his thoughts are written all over his face. He blushes deeply, thankful for the low light of the dying fire, and decides quickly that he needs to derail this conversation before it goes any further.

“John, why are we still talking about this?” He means it to come out bored and disinterested but his panic betrays him and it sounds more like pleading.

“Because you’ve been my best mate for seven years, give or take a couple of missing ones, and we’ve never once talked about this. Because I’m curious and drunk enough to keep asking you things I’ve never had the balls to ask you before. Perhaps,” John shrugs, “you’re drunk enough to answer?”

Despite his anxiety Sherlock is touched by John’s unexpected need to _talk_ and he smiles softly at his inebriated friend. He wonders if this is something John has been working on with his new therapist. John appears to be conflicted about something and he shifts back in his chair in an obvious and deliberate act to appear less confrontational.

“Look, ‘m sorry if it’s making you uncomfortable…we can-” John sighs and readjusts his posture yet again, “just forget about it yeah?”

He is not sure why he feels compelled to answer John. Perhaps it’s the conflicted look stitching John’s brows together, or the earnest way in which he seems so invested in Sherlock’s emotional wellbeing, or maybe it’s just that resisting alcohol and its inhibition-lowering effect has never been Sherlock’s strong suit. He takes a deep breath and decides to hurtle himself off the precipice that he feels he is suddenly standing on.

“Just one.” Sherlock can feel his heart thudding against his ribcage.

“Just one what?”

“You asked if there had ever been anyone else that I...anyone else that I had loved, been in love with. Just the one person, it’s only ever been one person really. What I felt for Victor could hardly be compared to what I-” Sherlock clears his throat, swallows audibly and shakes his head before continuing “well, anyway; just the one person.”

“Oh?” John shifts forward in his chair and continues quietly, with caution, “what happened?”

Sherlock considers, for a second, being truthful.

_Well I threw myself off a building in front of him, let him think I was dead for 2 years and once I truly realised what he meant to me I came back from the dead and helped organise his wedding to a woman who ended up shooting me._

Sherlock chuckles bitterly, shaking his head before looking up at John again.

“It didn’t work out…he wasn’t…available. Or interested.”

“In you? Or…men in general?” Sherlock thinks John is being remarkable perceptive considering the amount he has had to drink and that scares him a bit. Caution stalls his response.

“Men…at least I thought so. Mixed messages again you see. The lines were always a little blurred between us. I came to deduce later that there was someone who…well anyway. I realised it wasn’t men that he wasn’t interested in, it was just me.”

The quiet rings for what feels like years and Sherlock holds his breath, wondering if he has just given himself away entirely.

“Well!” John’s silence-breaking exclamation startles a jump out of Sherlock. “He’s an idiot then, if he couldn’t see what a catch you are. Ears in the crisper, suspicious substances in the microwave- tosser didn’t know what he was missing out on.”

John’s grinning, it’s meant to ease the tension a bit and reassure Sherlock, and Sherlock adores him for the slightly misguided attempt.

“Yes well, as you’ve probably realised, I have a fondness for idiots.”

John smiles softly, before his features mar into one of outrage. He sinks down into his seat so his legs are outstretched enough to kick Sherlock in the shin.

“Oi you! It’s my birthday, you’re not allowed to be mean to me. We discussed it.”

“I distinctly remember you telling me I had to be on my best behaviour with our guests, you never mentioned anything about yourself.”

John feigns annoyance briefly before rolling his eyes and getting up to add another log to the fire, thankfully bringing an end to the whole hateful conversation.

Sherlock watches the perfect curve of his arse as he bends over to reach for the poker and blushes at the thought of John turning around and catching him mid-ogle. Sherlock groans internally at his own humiliating reaction to the simple image of his friend crouching down to poke at the coals and makes a mental note to never consume alcohol again.

Satisfied with his effort John gives a pleased nod and puts the poker back. He stands up too quickly and overbalances; landing flat on his backside, a look of shock on his face. There is silence for a beat before Sherlock starts sniggering and John, who can’t keep the annoyed expression up for long, soon joins him.

Sherlock shuffles over and offers John a hand and John reaches for it. The wicked grin on John’s face should have been enough of an indicator to Sherlock of what’s going to happen next but the alcohol has slowed his wits and he is on his bum beside John before he realises John’s underhanded move.

Outrage plays on Sherlock’s features for all of a few seconds before they are both doubling over with wheezed laughter again.

This elated giddiness feels so familiar and yet so distant; he can’t remember the last time the pair of them laughed together like this. Certainly not since his return. The easy intimacy that they’ve softly and slowly sunk back into has allowed the unfurling of this moment of pure elation. Sherlock hopes against hope that this is to be their norm again. God he’s missed it.

When the giggling eventually peters off Sherlock realises their hands are still clasped and their faces are close enough for him to feel John’s breath on his cheek and it makes his stomach do a sudden, not entirely unpleasant, somersault.

Sherlock lifts his gaze and John is staring right at him and the intensity of that look is making Sherlock’s cheeks, already alcohol-flushed, heat even further. John licks his lips and shifts a little closer and Sherlock can feel his own heartbeat thundering against his rib cage and pounding in his ears. For a second he wonders if this isn’t all a dream, it feels surreal; as though he is a spectator on his own life. Not for the first time tonight he is reminded of John’s stag night and how they carefully hovered by the edge of something more. He still wonders whether John felt the same electric heat that Sherlock did that night, heavy limbed and almost magnetically pulled toward each other; the distance between their chairs counting for nothing. The shadows of that night and how it could have ended were something Sherlock often revisited in his mind palace, the echoes of warmth and contentment and hope choosing to come back and tug unpleasantly at Sherlock in his lowest moments.

Sherlock dares to hope that maybe this time the two of them, constantly orbiting and never quite catching each other, are finally on the same page? His eyes dart to John’s lips and his own fall open almost involuntarily. He inhales sharply through his nose and tilts his chin slightly as his heart continues pounding thunderously in his ears.

The thick silence is abruptly interrupted by John’s message tone going off and the noise startles a jump out of Sherlock who manages to smack his chin into John’s forehead.

That sets them off again; laughing and laughing until their eyes are wet and they are both panting for breath.

They eventually stop and John, ignoring his phone’s wailing again, looks at Sherlock with such a fondness that Sherlock feels weak and absolutely ruined with sentiment.

“Sherlock-“

“Hmmm?” Damn, has he sounded this languid and simpering the entire night?

“Was that…did we just…?” John chuckles; “Christ I don’t know if I’m drunk enough for this.”

Sherlock’s brows knit together in confusion.

“For what?”

A pause.

John; sincere yet determined, starts over.

“Can I ask you another question Sherlock?”

Sherlock nods; _anything_.

“Before when you said there was someone. Do you still. Um. Do you still feel that way?”

The question causes a proverbial record scratch in Sherlock’s thought processes and he begins to think that perhaps he has been reading this wrong again, that they were not on the same page after all. Sherlock frowns, pulling back from John and disentangling their hands.

“No, hey, hang on. I’m not taking the piss.”

Sherlock, eyes narrowing, studies John and wishes the alcohol wasn’t clouding his ability to read John’s behaviour right now. Not that figuring out John Watson has ever been Sherlock’s strong suit.

“Why?” He ventures, shoulders stiff and tone aloof, “is it important?”

“Yeah actually, yeah it is. Important.”

“Why is it important?” His response is waspish, but uncertain. A curious tendril of hope is unfurling within him again.

John frowns slightly and Sherlock is sober enough to see the thought process reflected in John’s features. John sighs, resolute in whatever he is about to say.

“It’s important because,” he takes a deep breath, “because I think I’d like to kiss you Sherlock and I need to know that, if I do, that’s something that you’d like. From me. With me….Because this other person you were talking about was, uh, _is_ …me.”

Sherlock, stunned, blinks several times. He stares at John for an inappropriate amount of time before attempting to manipulate his mouth into making some kind of response. All that escapes is a rather humiliating and strangled sound from the back of his throat.

“Tell me I haven’t completely bollocksed this up here Sherlock. I know I’m an idiot, but tell me I haven’t come to the wrong conclusion here?”

“Um. No; you haven’t. I mean yes; you’re an idiot but-”

“You have a fondness for idiots?” John parrots back to him.

Heat floods Sherlock’s face with such an intensity that for a second he thinks he is about to pass out. John shuffles closer and reaches his palm out to cup the sharp line of Sherlock’s jaw. His thumb swipes across an overheated cheekbone and he smiles encouragingly at Sherlock.

“Is this-”

Sherlock can’t bear to draw this out any longer and suddenly he is leaning in, lips planting awkwardly on John’s. It’s hardly even a kiss really- their noses bump and John, stunned by Sherlock’s boldness, is temporarily frozen as Sherlock presses his overly stiff lips to John’s partly open mouth.

Sherlock gives an embarrassed laugh, feeling every bit as inexperienced as his previous confessions implied. But John, who has gathered his composure now, is beaming at him.

“Let’s try that again, yeah?”

Sherlock nods; confidence gaining again.

“John Watson, are you going to make me see God?”

John lets out a surprised bark of laughter before he is surging forward and pressing his mouth against Sherlock’s smirking lips.

It starts chaste; small pecks that allow Sherlock’s brain to catch up with the proceedings. He switches to taking Sherlock’s bottom lip between his; sucking on the plump skin and encouraging Sherlock to follow suit. The first tease of John’s tongue is hesitant, he pulls back and almost goes cross eyed from the proximity as he gazes intently at Sherlock, silently following up on Sherlock’s earlier comment regarding Janine’s use of tongue.

Sherlock rolls his eyes and pulls John back in, mouth open and coaxing Johns tongue back with his own. The wet slick of John’s tongue against his sparks a giddy thrill of desire that dances down Sherlock’s back and settles warmly at the base of his spine. The frenzied push pull of their mouths aids the heat from the recently stoked fire in causing Sherlock’s shirt to stick to his sweat slicked back and he pulls away, forehead resting against John’s, while he catches his breath.

“You…you never said.” Sherlock pants.

“Yeah, I think we’ve already established I’m an idiot”

“I am. Me too. We’re both idiots.”

John chuckles and then they are kissing again. Slow and sweet and heated all at once. Emboldened my John’s enthusiasm Sherlock moves to rest his palm on John’s thigh which is apparently the right thing to do because John drags his hands up the nape of Sherlock’s neck in response and proceeds to thread his fingers through Sherlock’s curls. John tugs slightly and the sensation on Sherlock’s sensitive scalp makes the detective pull back with a gasp. John uses this as an opportunity to start kissing his way down Sherlock’s neck; laying soft pecks and wet sucks along the underside of Sherlock’s jaw. The feeling of John’s teeth gently pressing on Sherlock’s sternocleidomastoid muscle draws a startled moan from Sherlock and he tightens his grip on John’s thigh. He feels John chuckle against his moist skin as he starts kissing his way back up Sherlock’s neck.

“Sorry, too much?” John rumbles in his ear.

The lightness in his voice suggests he is anything but sorry and Sherlock pretends to scowl in response before John kisses the pout from his lips. One of John’s hands starts to descend down Sherlock’s neck; tugging on his earlobe lightly before tracing a path along Sherlock’s clavicle. It eventually comes to rest on Sherlock’s pectoral, fingers splayed and softly cupping the muscle. The precise position of John’s thumb above the hardened nub of Sherlock’s nipple draws an unexpected shiver from Sherlock who finds himself wondering how in the last 30 odd years he has somehow managed to ignore their existence.

But John. Wonderful, brilliant, amazing John has noticed Sherlock’s reaction and begins to slowly rub his thumb over the tight bud and it hits Sherlock suddenly that this isn’t just kissing anymore. This is leading to something. This is leading to sex. _Sex_. Sex with John Watson. And just like that Sherlock starts to panic.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. A warning that the rating will likely go up for the next chapter. A further warning- I am a fierce procrastinator and self critic and as such cannot promise the next chapter will be uploaded promptly. I also don't get a whole lot of free time to write so whilst the next chapter is roughly 1/3 complete I am not sure when it will be uploaded yet. Hopefully not too long though! As I said before I'm still pretty new to this, so any kudos and comments are so lovingly appreciated. Feel free to come chat to me at [ my tumblr](http://starlitsecrets.tumblr.com), I don't really have many fandom friends and am always happy to chat to people about Johnlock :) (link in my bio if this one is causing trouble).


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